perfect imperfection
by farfetched4
Summary: Blue wishes he could be like the wind, where simply existing is enough. Failing that, he'll join it instead, if only briefly.


Warning for suicidal thoughts, and implied suicide.

* * *

He grips the handrail a little too hard, leans over, looks at the rocks on the edge of tumbling and the sheer slopes. He can't even remember where he is, just somewhere high up. Maybe Cinnabar Volcano, maybe the plateau's edge. The wind glides past him, over the edge and down, rustling the plants on the slope, and he wonders how being that wind would feel, free of _responsibilities_ and _rivals_ and _grandfathers who never cared_ and _inferiority_. Winds would never feel inadequate, lacking in the thoughts and feelings that fill up everything that is him. Winds wouldn't care if they were part of a tornado pulling up buildings and lives or a summer breeze idling along coasts, just being would be good enough for them.

Winds wouldn't feel they had to be the best to feel noticed.

He sighs, adding to that wind, and slumps against the rail, closing his eyes against the alluring sight of _down_, opens his mind's eye to a smug rival and a disappointed grandfather, faceless crowds caring no more about him and his catastrophic loss, occupied with cheering for their hero, the perfect person, who cares and helps and is perfect in every way. He could have screamed in their blank faces until he'd turned blue, and they would have done nothing.

There's nothing left. Nobody _wants_ him, nobody _cares_. Nobody has half a mind to think of the arrogant one who had nothing anyway. All the people who said he was spoilt were sorely mistaken, obviously hadn't seen the way Professor Oak looked at Red and Delia with such desire to be part of their circle, obviously hadn't seen the home life he'd lived, the friends he'd never had, the distance he had with everyone because no one had shown him how to reach out. If he was arrogant it was his protection against everyone saying he wasn't good enough, his true answer locked up in a silent shout of _show me! Show me how and I'll try! Give me a chance!_that no one ever heard.

He opens his eyes again as he feels his throat lock up, staring at the sharp edges of rocks and the glistening water, pokémon surely in there that would devour him so quickly, so easily should he fall in that there would be no evidence. Maybe they wouldn't want him either, wouldn't want meat tainted by self-pity and hatred, taste bitter in their mouths.

The rain starts falling then as he realises the isolation of it all. Not a single soul wants him, not a pokémon, not a person. Nowhere to go but down.

Down.

He wonders then about falling, about travelling faster vertically downwards than across, about having rocks as his cushions and deadly water as his blanket, covering, smothering. He wonders then about the end, and beyond the end – hopefully a full delete, an absolute end with no commas, no thoughts after the brick wall. No more arrogant ex-champion. No more insufferable ex-rival. No more disappointed grandson. No more shameful idiotic heartless person, ignoring the cries of others because he can't hear them over his own drowning screams, no more pathetic owner who doesn't know how to treat pokémon because no one realised it wasn't inherited, no more weak link in a ruined family.

No more of _him_.

He smiles weakly, watches as the curtain of rock grows blurry and ever more inviting, as the shadows of everything slowly ebb away, the end only one movement away.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it away. Before long, a quiet whisper.

"Blue."

He wants to forget how no one thought of a good enough name quickly enough, so they named him after the sky, or the water. He hates that Red was the same, he wants to forget everything.  
"Blue. I'm sorry." He can't help but laugh, a short expulsion of air to join that flowing down the cliff, him soon to follow.

"You're not sorry."

Red doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

"Enjoy your life." Shifting his grip on the rail, he throws himself through the gap, letting go as soon as he feels no ground below him, and joins the wind.

Looking up, he sees Red's face, and it is not perfect.

* * *

Could be said my mood was not the greatest when I wrote this. I feel sorry for Blue/Green though, and I like the take that Red was never really his friend.


End file.
